The Game
by Echo Vanity
Summary: Crap title sorry. Kinda pre-Drarry oneshot:   Hate love passion violence and it's Hell but Harry wouldn't give it up for the world. "You think you know how to play this game...he's the only one able to get under your skin..."


*A/N* This is what happens when I procrastinate with internet access. No real point it's just meh. Pointless one shot plotless thing written in like, 20 minutes. Enjoy! (Harry p.o.v talking about Malfoy in case you didn't figure that out ^_^) Read and review as always please!

**J.K Rowling owns all. I****'****m just messing with them. **

You think you know how this game is played. This spiteful words and angry fists and bruises and hell and hate and bliss game you play, have always played. He's the only one able to get under your skin and you _despise _him for it, want to smash that far too pretty face of his in with your fist, want to slam his blonde head into the stone floors of the corridors and make him _bleed_. Want to feel his silky hair all twisted too tight in your fist and feel his slick bright blood beneath your fingertips.

You want to pick up his stupid skinny ragdoll body and shove him against the wall. Want to see him smirk through the fear in his stupid mesmerizing silver eyes and you want to force your mouth onto that smirk, bite his pretty pink pout and make his lips bleed and bruise. Want to make him moan and gasp and convulse beneath your furious administrations. Want to rip his stupidly expensive clothes off, tear the silk and slice through cashmere and fuck him harsh and raw and passionate. Want to leave him lying there naked and alone and senseless from your love-hate-hate-hate.

And it's so fucking perverse, you must be a fucking masochist you sick fuck because you look forward to him pushing past you in the corridors, slamming his bony shoulders into yours . Love the way he spits "Potter." with _that _icy glint in his eyes and that dangerous smirk on his stupid kissable fuckable mouth.

You want him to push you to the floor and straddle your hips and slam your head so hard into the cold ground that your teeth rattle. Want his pointy elbow against your windpipe and want to see his stupid fucking face through blurry eyes and shattered glasses. Want him to grip your hair too too tight til you feel the messy strands, so imperfect next to his sleek locks, rip out. Want him to ask "Scared Potter?" as he brings his mouth to your flesh , sucks and _bites _with those pointy incisors of his. And you'll raise a brow in a pointed mockery of his dumb facial expression and hiss: "You wish."

And it's and oh-so-dangerous game you play and it's a fine, fine line between beating him up and jumping his bones and it's happening every day now, sometimes more til both his and your friends just sigh in exasperation and leave you to it. And every day you think "maybe today that line will be crossed-" and it's sickening how much you look forward to it, to him, but you can't won't stop and where's the harm cause no one but you and you suspect him, will ever ever know your perverse pleasure, your insane excitement, euphoria of the thought of him smashing your face in.

He's swaggering down the corridor right in your line of sight again and you feel your stomach tighten in anticipation and feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins and it is heaven. And you can see the light in his eyes as he slams into you, not even bothering with the insults any more. You think you can feel his hard length against your thigh as he straddles your bucking hips and you feel your own hardness in response. And he's laughing at you fucking _laughing_ even as you gain the upper hand and you growl and he just smirks more, laughs harder and that mocking sound grates on your ears and makes you furious even as it turns you on. And he flips you over again and punches are flying and isn't this _fun?_ Isn't it _glorious?_ And as you're slammed into a wall, trapped on your knees with him pummeling your gut, you think you hear him grunt: "_Mine."_

And you smile and gasp through the blood and the sweat and shove him, fiercely with your bony knees and think: "_Yes. Mine. Mine."_And you have no idea how to win this game or where it's going or how to stop but Draco's resorted to biting you and your melting in bliss even as you claw at his back and you think you'll keep playing this game forever and ever for the feel of his skin on your skin, your bones as they slam together and that hate filled wondrous look in his stupid, perfect eyes.


End file.
